He asked because he needs to. Because his brain is spinning, because he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with any of this but he knows that if he kisses me, maybe he’ll figure it out. I nod, just barely, and it’s the only answer he needs.

Carter moves in slow but sure, his grip on my jaw firming slightly, his breath ghosting over my lips, and then… He kisses me. And, fuck, can he kiss.

It’s hesitant at first, uncertain in a way that makes my stomach tighten, makes my pulse skip, makes me feel the weight of his inexperience in a way that isn’t awkward or fumbling but intoxicating. He’s learning me. His lips press against mine soft at first, just a test, just a taste, just enough to see how I’ll respond. And when I sigh into him, when I tilt my chin up to chase more, when I curl my fingers into the front of his shirt like I suddenly need something to hold onto before I completely lose myself in this, that’s when he really starts kissing me.

His mouth moves against mine, slow and deep, then he does something I don’t expect. His hand moves, sliding from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers threading into my hair, tugging just slightly, just enough to make me gasp against his lips.

Carter groans, low and deep, barely a sound but still a vibration against my mouth, and then his other hand grips my waist, pulling me in like he’s finally letting himself feel this, like he’s finally accepting the fact that he wants me, like he’s finally understanding that he can.

I don’t even know when I ended up in his lap, but I do know that I don’t want to leave it. Not when he’s kissing me like this. Like he’s devouring me, as if he’s been starving for this and didn’t realize how hungry he was until right now. And the worst part, I don’t think I want him to stop.

Carter’s head tips back against the couch, his breath shuddering, his fingers still gripping my waist like he’s afraid to move, like he’s afraid if he lets go, something irreversible will happen. I can feel the tension in his body, the heat rolling off him in waves, the weight of his hesitation pressing thick between us, battling against the want that I can see written all over his face.

He’s holding back. Even now, with me in his lap, with my fingers trailing up his chest, with my mouth pressing soft against his skin, he’s still holding back.